Disclaimer
by FollowtheFatOrangeCat
Summary: Levy's, a sociably awkward bookworm, imagination always had a tendency of running away from her. Developing theories in real life and writing out the fabricated plot for later analyzing. Only problem is when such falls into the hands of the last person she would want inside her mind. [Modern A/U: M for language and impending sexual content.]
1. Prologue

_**[DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING…]**_

* * *

><p><em><strong>Prologue: Statistics and Stress Eating<strong>_

* * *

><p>Levy was ninety-seven percent certain that the guy living on the fifth floor was a serial killer.<p>

Two weeks ago, when she first moved into the complex, she had been seventy-three percent certain that he was a drug dealer…and then, with the more she saw of him in passing, his status began to rise in lethal nature along with her level of certainty that she would one day look outside her window and see the telling red-and-blue of flashing lights to indicate the good men in uniform coming to drag the pierced man away for chopping puppies into small bits.

Though, as she stood beside him in what was possibly the slowest moving elevator in the history of the invention, Levy was starting to believe that said arrest would be more along the lines of wearing someone's freshly severed head as a hat.

How much shampoo would be needed to get blood out of that chaotic array of waist-length hair? Not that anyone would be able to see the red amongst the jet locks, maybe he allowed it to dry and remain. Like barbaric warriors of old, displaying his fresh kill to obtain primal power.

The same color red as the irises looking down at her as she unknowingly gaped at him, inching away to create as much distance as possible. The sudden sound of the doors protesting the mandatory act of opening made her feet leave the floor in a startled moment of panic.

Her messenger bag slid off her shoulder and its contents went spilling about the floor. A book, one of the several she carried about, slid between where the doors were trying to close—far quicker in that action than when they had to open—causing them to reluctantly bounce back open and then try to close again.

"Did you ever think of a nook?" Growling, the man crouched down and helped Levy gather her things. By passing the scattering of tampons for more masculine-friendly materials. Such as Levy's ever-present journal. "Hear they can hold like ten-thousand books in one convenient container."

Spoken like a true sociopathic, mass-murdering, organ-wearing, non-reader.

Levy cringed every time someone tried to talk her into converting to what she considered to be the 'dark-side' of literature. Did they not know that electronics had no soul? Where was the appeal in curling-up with a cold screen rather than having the tangible feel of the pages and the scent of ink and paper?

Springing to her feet, Levy darted out of the confined space…only pausing long enough to free the book-serving-blockade on her way.

Heart refusing to cease its hammering till over an hour after the encounter had passed. During such time, Levy consumed close to an entire box of Girl Scout cookies. She tended to eat when in a state of panic. Luckily, possessing a naturally thin build, she suffered minimum consequences of such a nervous quirk.

Back in college, she was a favored customer of a local bakery during finals week. Red velvets being her go-to remedy.

She could go for about a dozen now.

Instead, she settled for pacing about her apartment space and downing cookies in one bite. Continuously watching the door, expecting it to be knocked down by one forceful blow by the homicidal man in question.

That might be why she screamed, cookie crumbs speckling from her lips, when a knock was wrapped from the other side.

"Levy?"

Shaking laugh rattling from her lungs, Levy placed the nearly-empty box top of the pile of books inhabiting her end-table and went to the door with a relieved skip in her step. "Luce!"

The blonde's brown eyes blinked in confusion from Levy launching herself out the door and wrapped her arms about her taller friend's torso. "Alright. Hello there. Is there a reason why you're screaming…and then nearly tackling me…just from my knocking on your door?"

"Come in before the serial killer storms the castle." Only partially kidding, Levy snagged Lucy's hand and dragged her inside. Securing the door's locks, all two of them, before returning for her cookies.

"Ok…so…cookies are involved so something must have rattled you." Settling on the couch, Lucy picked a random book off one of the numerous towers constructed about the space…one did not cease buying books merely from lack of proper shelving.

"Remember the possible ax-rapist I told you about?"

"No…though you did mention a guy you thought was a thug for the mob a few days back."

"That's him."

"He's now an ax rapist? Well, he evolved on the sinister-creeper scale quite rapidly. Don't know if I should be impressed or terrified."

"Be terrified, and don't act like this is a joke. I ran into him on the elevator."

Lucy's amusement faded. "Oh my god…did he…" She looked Levy over for a sign of trauma. "Did he do something to you?"

"No." Levy waved away Lucy's concern. "Having him around made me skittish and I ran like one of the colts your father likes to train."

"But you think that he's going to come after you?"

"I. Don't. Know. All I know is that he doesn't have a soul and probably wears a suit made of human skin when alone in his apartment." Levy's eyes gained a glassy sheen of morbid wonder. "Surrounded by mason jars fullof pickled body-parts from recent kills."

"And...I'm sorry…you lost me again."

"He wondered why I didn't have a kindle...or nook...or one of those things."

And the condescension returned. "Yes. A sure sign of pure evil."

"I mean it…he scares the bajesus out of me."

"Well, how about a diversion from the fright?"

"Red velvets?"

Lucy's nose crinkled. While possessing a body most lingerie models paid high-price to obtain, she didn't share Levy's ability to pack away the sweets without ramifications. "How about something a bit less calorie infested?"

"Book shopping?"

"And something more social." She added after Levy's hopeful suggestion at retail therapy. "Along the lines of a girl's night out."

"Out where?"

Looking away, Lucy became fascinated with the wording on the spine of the book she held. "Heard there is a race being held—"

"A race? As in a cycle race? As in going to an _illegal _gathering at an abandoned track of sorts consisting primarily of drunken idiots who like to gamble and then start fights when they lose? You want to go to one of them?"

"It's not as bad as you make it sound."

"Have you been to one before?"

"No…but I hear that a lot of cute guys go there—"

"You want a drunken idiot for a boyfriend? Should I go upstairs and ask the ax-rapist if he has any friends who might be interested? I am sure one of them would love wearing your hair while scalp is still attached."

"—and, seeing that it is such a hot item at the moment, I know that reports and photographers show at these kinds of events. I could be scouted."

"I thought you wanted to be an author."

"No one says I can't both model and write. One can help spring-board me into the other."

Levy could see the stars beginning to fill her friend's eyes and knew a lost cause when she encountered one. Accompanying her friend or not, Lucy was going to be going when the call-to-arms—in the form of a mass text sent to those of a certain age and image, two categories Lucy easily fell into—was sound. Leaving the question of whether she wanted to accompany her friend or allow the blonde to face the unknown alone.

"If we get murdered. I am going to forever torment you."

With a squeal, very different than the one Levy had recently released, Lucy launched up to her feet and nearly did a victory dance in sheer glee.

All Levy's body did was suffer the icy sensation of her stomach plummeting to her feet.

There was no way that this would end well.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This is just a random idea that popped into my head, so I thought to fiddle with it. Don't know if it is going anywhere…if it does, I will post a far longer chapter next time. Let me know if you want more and I am seriously thinking I should be tested for ADD (focusing is hard).**


	2. Chapter 1: Emotions

**[DISCLAIMER: I OWN NOTHING…]**

* * *

><p><strong>1: Twisted Emotions<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>LOST: JOURNAL…REWARD ON UNREAD RETURN<strong>

Tacks in hand, Levy grudgingly posted another poster. Feeling ridiculous for being reduced to such, like when her outdoor shoes were stolen and she had to walk home in socks…and then had to put up posters inquiring about those said shoes.

Unlike then, though, she had no idea where her journal could possibly be. She had already emptied the contents of her bag and ransacked her apartment before running off to the publication agency she worked out and tearing her cubical apart. Each action bringing her closer to an all-out frenzy.

Her whole life was on those pages.

In a somewhat literal manner.

All with random musings, theories and plots she developed from social interactions and daydreaming to possibly work on if she ever had the time, she also had notes about her various projects marked off. Not one for computers, these would be her only works and her boss wasn't going to be pleased to discover that she had to revert back to the beginning of all the work completed in the last six months.

And she might cry, not only from being yelled at…but from all the hours she lost.

"_Calm down! I'm sure that it will show-up."_ Had been what Lucy said, yelled over the roar of motors revving when they stood on the sidelines of the crowded, rundown track that had been officially been closed for over a decade. Bolt-cutters had opened it once more to the public.

Every time they went, levy was certain it would be the time that the police would show up and take them all to jail. And then she caught sight of an out-of-uniform officer downing a pounder of beer and groaning when his racer didn't cross the line in time.

Why did she continue to go?

Honestly, she had no idea other than it being a diversion from thoughts of how she was going to handle her current predicament. A very loud, violent distraction that made her carry a packet of anti-bacterial wipes in her back pocket. And one where she couldn't bring a book from fear of what would occur to it. Also, there was nowhere to sit and she wasn't coordinated enough to balance a book while standing in a press of bodies.

It had been over a month, and the book had yet to 'show-up' while Levy was having issue fudging her way through the work day. Running out of the notecards she had been meaning to convert to her journal but hadn't had the time before its disappearance.

So, now, desperation was causing her to revert back to a more juvenile means of addressing the matter.

Why can't journals be like cell phones? Then she could just call it and she could follow the ringing. Maybe she should get a bell…

Collapsing onto her couch after posting the last flyer in the complexes entrance way, she buried her face into pillow to muffle her screams of frustration. She was going to have no choice but to talk to Freed.

Maybe she could call sick.

How long could someone pretend to have an Ebola scare without actually be committed to the hospital?

She must have fallen asleep while contemplating other such, hopefully more believable than contracting a deadly disease, excuses. Toppling off the couch when a succession of loud knocks were wrapped on the door.

"Coming!" She yelled while trying to organize her hair and clothing, both somehow becoming a tangled mess during her cat-nap. Or, more accurately, her bout of unconsciousness. When she was entered the apartment, the sun had been out. Now, the space was filled with twilight. She tripped over one of her book towers, cursing her way as she hopped while holding her injured foot. "Luce, why didn't you just dig out the spare..." Swinging the door open, her voice trailed off on the realization that it wasn't her best friend waiting for her.

It was the homicidal maniac from the fifth floor.

She had opened the door to him, so there would be no sign of breaking and entering when the police came to case the murder scene.

And now also knew that she hid a spare key somewhere, just waiting to be taken. So, even if she swung the door shut and relock it before he sprung, he could find a way back in.

That didn't stop her from trying.

Her hand automatically went to swing the door shut.

His hand, which looked like it could snap her neck without effort, stopped it with an annoyed glare down at her. If it was possible, he might have grown since that last time she had seen him. His shoulders seemed to take-up the entire door space and his head nearly touched the bottom of the frame.

"Um…ok…hello." Taking a step back, though pretty certain he could still grab her through the gap if blood lust was to overtake him. Or if he wanted to update his wardrobe. "There are people coming up here any moment to…find me…for something." Her voice came out in a rush squeak.

"I see that I obviously graduated from underground boxer with ties to organized crime to all out murderer." The man's voice was a grated growl, she might thought it was from smoking…but he didn't smell like smoke and his fanged teeth were surprisingly white as he sneered down at her.

Blind terror had made her blind to the fact that he had been holding her journal in the hand that hadn't stopped the door was slamming in his face.

"You have my journal?!"

"You dropped it in the elevator a few weeks ago and then ran away the moment I tried to return it."

"And you held onto it this entire time?" Waiting for the perfect moment to approach her for the impending kill while learning all he could about the inner workings of her mind?

Wait…

She felt like she missed something he had said earlier…

"I didn't know where to find you, seeing that there was nothing along the lines of personal information written inside beyond the 'In case I die, find the man on the fifth floor…' disclaimer. After that, even if I wanted to put the effort in, I doubted that walking about from floor to looking for you would have been wise."

"You read it?"

"Don't worry, I'm not expecting the reward." Pushing the book into Levy's arms—sure enough, he didn't have to move any closer to do so, the man was that tall—he tugged on the bandana resting on his brow. "But, whatever, clearly I reached the serial killer section of the graph you doodled near the middle. Going to go before you start screaming rape." He grumbled under his breath on his way out.

Levy remained rooted to where she had been during the interaction's course, mind trying to process what had just occurred.

Her conclusion:

That had to be the most awkward encounter of her life.

But now it was over, no need to dwell and over-analyze.

Not when the matter was officially in the past.

Right?

* * *

><p>"Why am I here?" Levy asked the sky, voice lost in the volume of those around her, trigging claustrophobia she hadn't been aware of possessing till Lucy started dragging her to the races. "I should be working. Do you realize how far behind I am?"<p>

"Come on." Lucy's voice took on a hint of a whine, clutching Levy's hand as she looked around the crowd. Fifth time for them to attend such a gathering, weaving about the mob in an attempt to find a prime location. Not to watch the motorcycles go about, such sights made Levy's heart increase in speed and her chest tighten. Why did so many think that this was a legit past time? "I can't come here alone."

"Then get a boyfriend, there are plenty of takers."

"I can't bring a boyfriend." Lucy continued to speak to talk to Levy, but was scanning the crowd. Last week, right around the time that Levy had her friend convinced that this was a waste of time, the blonde had caught sight of a fashion photographer taking pictures of models Levy didn't know the names of—but Lucy did—along the make-shift pit section of the track.

So, tonight, Lucy had spent extra attention to her appearance. Going as far as to schedule an emergency appointment with her personal hair stylist so her golden hair bounced in perfect curls that hung about her shoulders and was loosely clipped back from her classically beautiful face.

As for her outfit, Lucy had decided to ignore the chill in the air and wore a pleated mini-skirt with a semi-sheer sweater worn over a camisole. The effect somehow made her breasts more apparent, though completely covered.

Beside her, Levy felt horribly underdressed in a pair of skinny jeans worn under a long-sleeved knit top that fell around her knees. Hair pulled back into a sloppy bun far from the center of her head so that stray locks could fall about her shoulders.

"Well, this is the last time I'm tagging along." No longer needing the distraction, all Levy could think about while hanging at Lucy's side was what Freed would do if he knew that she was wasting away a Thursday night here, rather than doing work.

Full lips pushing into a pout that made a few men around them do a double-take, Lucy sighed in frustrated reassignment. "Fine." Touching her hair to reassure herself that it was still perfectly styled, Lucy went up on her tip toes to see over the heads of those around. "We need to move in further if I want to catch attention."

Falling behind Lucy by a step, Levy found herself grumbling under her breath. "How about we jerry-rig Christmas lights to shine about you like a tiara?" Levy's words had more bite than usual, not understanding why she was on edge. Ever since she reclaimed her journal the night before, she found that her emotions couldn't be quieted. Something her current location wasn't aiding in the attempts at.

Just agitating her more.

It was unusual for her to be in such a foul mood. Anxious panic attacks and stressful binge-eating were one thing, but all out bitchiness were another—and were far from her normal nature. No matter how she tried to quell it down, it kept popping up with increasing force. Like trying to hold a beach ball under the water, the surface of a pool.

Mulling this about her mind, Levy lost sight of Lucy and found herself lost in the wall of bodies.

And that just figured.

Alright, where to go from here.

Levy was trying to get a bar to appear on her phone, to text Lucy about a meeting point, when her body was violently jarred about. Losing her foot and falling onto her knees, sinking into the muddy ground.

A fight had broken out nearby and Levy had become a casualty. One that was going to be trampled from the inability to regain her feet and being too small for the brawlers to discern from the rest of the crowd.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to prepare herself for the pain she knew would be coming…and then found herself becoming airborne as strong, calloused hands took hold of her shoulders and picked her out of harm's way with the same amount of effort that she would use in picking up a particularly tiny kitten.

"Oi! Watch the hell where you are fucking going!"

At first, she assumed that the gruff snarl was directed towards her, for not paying better attention to her surroundings, only to discover seconds later that it had be to the men who nearly caused her to die by act of human stampede.

Looking at the man standing behind her was enough to induce an instant action of flight from those in the general area, creating a grove in the forest of humanity. Enough space for mobility Levy needed to turn about to safe her 'rescuer' and found the words stuck in her throat.

It was the guy from the fifth floor. Dressed in the same fashion as most of the racers, a battered leather jacket and jeans with limited rips tucked into heavy-soled boots.

Ignoring her slacked-mouth expression, not showing any sign of acknowledging that he knew who Levy was, the man knelt down and removed his bandana—possibly the same from the night before. It was tied about a rip that had formed in her jeans, right above her knee, where blood was slowly staining the material.

"Someone as freakishly small as you, Nook, should not wonder off alone…or go to a place like this." Standing, his movements speaking of detached efficiency, he nodded in a general direction. "Med stand is that way. Tell them that I sent you."

"Um…problem…I don't know who you are."

"I'm sure they know you're talking about if you say possible serial killer."

Awkward.

And, again, the words, mostly those of gratitude, were stuck in her throat as all she could do was watch him walk away for the second time in less than forty-eight hours. Leaving her with some inescapable facts.

Such as:

He read her journal during the weeks that it was in his possession, a breech in privacy that could be the reason for her foul mood—considering all the legal actions the authors she worked with from him viewing information regarding their property—but all she could focus on was it had only taken him hours to approach her once he figured who she was.

From reading, he knew what she thought about him. If her notes were too vagues, he mentioned her detailed graph of inclined trajectory his criminal status and lethal nature had taken during the weeks of her living in the complex.

How she had, quite shallowly if she was being honest, judged him before knowing anything about him beyond the superficial. He was big and scary looking and her mind, as it had a tendency to do, took that image and went haywire.

Something, the expression in his eyes as he walked away after returning her book and just seconds go…both far from the murderous intentions she had expected him to harbor, told her that this wasn't an uncommon occurrence for him.

And there, that realization, brought an understanding to her sour emotions' inception.

All that there was left to do was put on her big girl pants and own up to her mistakes if she every hoped to be at ease ever again. She might be naturally thin, but even she would suffer from the amount of bake goods she would have to intake to comfort away all the jagged edges to her current mindset.

* * *

><p><strong>Know there are errors hidden throughout this...please forgive me for not catching them.<strong>

**As always, thanks for the comments/favorite/alerts so far.**


End file.
